What my Brother Taught me about Love, by Sean Hotchner
by LetTheLightShine
Summary: Sean's point of view on growing up with Aaron Hotchner in a violent home. Encounters with his mother, father, and brother help Sean understand the real meaning of love versus the easy, superficial meaning of love. Please R&R. Warning: Involves physical and emotional abuse of children.
1. Chapter 1 -- Tainted Idol

_I do not own _Criminal Minds_ or any of the characters. The implication of Hotch's abusive childhood appears in Season 1's "Natural-Born Killer." I do not intend to take this topic lightly, as it is a very real issue that I have studied extensively as a criminal justice major. My intent is to bring a touch of realism as well as hope to this intense backstory. This story is presented as if written by Sean Hotchner. More chapters will follow. I hope you find it interesting and maybe get something out of it too._

My earliest memories of life with Aaron are clouded over with bitterness. I vaguely remember playing on the kitchen floor with a Tonka truck and suddenly hearing a door slam. Mother took an immediate interest in me, getting down on the floor, making pointless conversation about my toy. Though I focused on her, I was really listening to the yells and thuds that trembled down the hall. The sounds scared me, and I always knew it was Aaron's fault. I had seen Father yell at him for making too much noise around the house, so I blamed him whenever a sound scared me.

I suppose I was bitter at Aaron from the start. As a baby, I wouldn't let him hold me and would sometimes shriek when he came near. His face always frightened me. Sometimes he had blood on his lip or blackness around his eye. Kids don't like to see blood! Besides, he was ten years older than me and a bit of a freak, as far as I was concerned. We never did much together.

Father, on the other hand, was my best friend. We did everything together. I wanted to be just like him, even if it meant wearing a tie everyday. We went to the park together, enjoyed long ball games, sat at home and watched TV. I felt very proud to have such a special place in his life, and most of all, I felt safe around him.

My secure world changed when I was about four. I sat at the kitchen table with my mother and father, scarcely wondering where my brother was. After a few bites into the meal—some salty, oily soup—Aaron slipped through the kitchen door with a bulging backpack draped over one arm. Every muscle in his body shook madly. He closed the screen but left the door ajar.

Father stood—a rigid, pale, glaring statue. "Close the door, Aaron."

Aaron took one last glance at the street outside before pushing the pale green wood into the frame. I became vaguely aware of Mother taking my hand, whispering to me, and trying to draw my attention to the overflowing spoon in her hand.

Before I could say one word about the screen door, Father rushed at Aaron and backhanded him with stunning force. I gasped and became stone-still in shock. Aaron tightened up and curled his arms over his chest.

"Where were you?" Father demanded so softly he didn't sound as angry as he looked.

"I... I missed the bus," Aaron whispered.

I watched Father's arm curl back and then smack into Aaron's face. Aaron choked but said nothing. Another fist landed, then another from the other side, and another. My brother began sliding his feet sideways with his back against the counter, trying to escape the kitchen. But Father caught his arm and delivered a rapid succession of blows to his head and shoulders.

I started crying, in all honesty not because I cared about Aaron, but because I was terrified of Father coming after me next. I had never seen him lash out like this before. I had never seen him hurt anybody. Now he was making my brother bleed, and for the first time I understood the harm he was capable of. Mother could not quiet me now, and neither could Father's orders to shut up.

Finally Father stopped hitting Aaron, but Aaron did not lower his arms from over his head. Father held a fistfull of his son's sleeve as he leaned closer to the reddened face. "I'm sick of excuses," Father hissed. "Don't ever make a fool of me again." He shook Aaron. "Ever."

Aaron sniffled in response, still holding a forearm over his eyes. I continued to bawl.

"We're done here," said Father calmly, releasing his grip. "Go straight to bed, and I don't want to see you again today."

Aaron nodded and hurried upstairs, dragging his bag.

Father turned to Mother and me and pointed. "Keep that boy quiet."

But I was terribly frightened and more than ready for life to return to normal. Father sat down and slowly wiped his hands on his napkin. I soon stopped crying and my parents started eating again, but I could not take my eyes from the red smears on the rumpled white napkin.

Later I stood on my toes in my PJ's and leaned over the sink to brush my teeth. I noticed Aaron's brush sitting undisturbed in his blue plastic cup. Had he really gone straight to bed? Mother and Father had closed the door to their room, the coast in the short hallway was clear. After rinsing my toothbrush, I tiptoed across to Aaron's room and knocked softly.

A sniffle, then a faint "Yes?" I took that as permission to enter.

Aaron's room was half the size of our parents,' with only enough space for a sagging bed and a square dresser about my height. Aaron sat on the floor, back against the bed frame, with a flashlight in one hand and an open algebra book in his lap. One look at the tear-stained purple and red splotches lacing around half his face, and I became a silent statue again. I stood frozen in the doorway with one hand on the doorknob and my jaw hanging like a dead fish.

"What do you want?" Aaron muttered. "Get out of here."

I cowered a little. I didn't even know the guy, and I was barging into his room. "Are... are you okay?"

"Go to bed, Sean. Don't worry about it."

"But you... you—But Dad... I—"

Aaron closed his book and stood. I stepped back, realizing how tall he was. "Never you mind what goes on with Dad and me," Aaron said in a low voice. "You just stay out of it and leave me alone. Got it?"

I got it alright, but something still bothered me. "Will Dad hit me too?" I whispered.

Aaron's expression changed suddenly from a scowl to a look of sorrow. He shook his head. "You just stay clear, okay? And you'll be fine."

I stood there another moment, twiddling my thumbs, unreassured.

Aaron came forward and knelt in front of me. "I want you to forget everything that happened downstairs. I want you to think of Dad as the loving, gentle father that you know. He doesn't hurt me. You're safe. Now go to bed."

And that was that. I half expected a good-night hug or kiss at that point—he was, after all, my brother, however distant. But he just turned away and went to work collecting his school books from the sparse floor.

"Good night," I said, then closed the door and hurried to my own room.

Try as I might, I could not forget what I had witnessed. My perfect father was forever tainted.


	2. Chapter 2 -- Buying Love

The next day was a lovely, warm Saturday, and Father had insisted on taking Aaron and me on a few errands while Mother completed housework. As was typical of him, Aaron didn't say a word in the car. Father, on the other hand, was in quite the talkative mood, describing his most recent attorney cases and the unusual characters involved. I listened, but I did not engage in the conversation as much as usual. Aaron stared out the window. I could make out the faint reflection of his bruised face in the glass. While Father's stories droned on, I couldn't help wondering what people would think of the painful-looking marks and band-aids on my brother's face.

The answer became clear when we entered the thrift store. The clerk nearest the front door did a double take at the sight of Aaron. Father chuckled a little and said, "Oh, don't mind my boy. Got into another fight at school last week, didn't you, son?" And he playfully ruffled Aaron's thick, dark hair. "It's a habit we're going to _break_."

"Yes, sir," said Aaron weakly.

The clerk nodded, but one eyebrow appeared permanently raised. I wanted to say something but suddenly found myself very confused.

We walked together, Aaron lagging behind, to the corner of the store with racks upon racks of clothing. Here was my forest of jeans and shirts that I always loved to play in, but this time I held back. I watched Father closely. He was humming nonchalantly to the very dated music playing over the loudspeaker while he sifted through collared shirts.

"Go on, Sean," he said, barely looking up. "Find yourself a good pair of shoes."

"Okay, Daddy." I walked past him to the angled shelves laden with footware of every size and color. I had to find something with more than two colors.

I heard Father's voice behind my back. "Don't just stand there, Aaron. We're going to find you a good jacket so you don't freeze if the bus misses you."

That sounded nice of him, I thought as I tried on a pair of squeaky plaid sneakers, especially after the way he reacted last night to a missed bus. Maybe Father was a real nice guy after all.

I couldn't decide between the orange-and-white shoes and the blue-and-green dotted shoes. I presented both pairs to Father.

"Which do you like best?" he asked.

"Both."

"Then why don't we get you one of each? Would you like that?"

I certainly would, though I knew Mother wouldn't. I nodded and grinned big.

Father turned back to his older son and held up a navy blue jacket with a white zipper and a hood. "Try this, Aaron. And make sure it keeps you good and warm."

Aaron took the jacket with a wary look in his eyes and slowly undid the zipper. As I watched him try it on, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen him wearing a jacket before. Would this be his first? Why did he need one now? I mean, it wasn't really cold yet.

The jacket seemed to fit, but Aaron didn't look especially thrilled. I noticed Father make him lift his arms in front of him to ensure the sleeves were long enough. "There, covers everything," Father said. "Just be sure to zip up so you're all hidden... from the cold."

Aaron nodded, gaze still downcast.

"There now," Father went on, as if trying to validate his work. "Everything'll be just fine. Bring your shoes, Sean. We're paying and getting out of here."

"Thank you," I said, delighted I could get two entirely unmatching shoes.

I wondered why Aaron didn't say thank you. He got his own jacket, brand new from the thrift store, and he could only look down and shuffle his feet. I found it extremely ungrateful. Watching Father buy him a jacket, I became convinced _that_ was an act of love. Father gave him things, so Father did love him. This definitely cleared up my doubts and eased my fears.

On the drive home, I talked actively with our father. We had many tales to share and I loved the attention. But Aaron the Ingrate sat huddled against the window and stared out at the quaint Virginian suburbs.

I was now quite convinced he deserved to be hit. After all, he didn't recognize love when it was handed right to him. To deny a father's love, I thought, was truly evil.


	3. Chapter 3 -- Just a Word

Sunday morning, I sat on the back porch and played with a bucket of green army men. Mother stood over a basket of washed clothes and hung each article on the line overhead. Aaron's school books—looked like algebra and biology today—lay open but unattended on the porch a few feet away. Pages turned carelessly in the breeze. Aaron couldn't seem to sit still. He walked over to Mother and held up the pail of clothespins for her.

"Thank you, Aaron," she said quietly as she took a pair of pins for two damp red socks.

"Mom," he replied, just as hushed, "I wanted to ask if... if we could make it to church today. We haven't been in weeks."

Mother glanced pointedly at him, then up at the house. "Aaron, you know why we can't."

"He doesn't have to know. We can get out when he lies down in the afternoon. Please, Mom."

"I don't want to cause any problems. I'm sorry."

Aaron's head drooped. From my angle, I could clearly see the ugly bruises that still mottled his face. Why had Father said he'd been in a fight at school? Had that really happened?

"I just gotta get out for a bit."

"Why don't you take a break from your homework," said Mother. "Find something fun to do."

Aaron's eyes went wide. "But he..."

"I'll cover for you, if needed. You've been working plenty hard enough."

Aaron nodded. Mother leaned in to kiss his wounded face.

I watched the exchange and I watched the gentle kiss. Whenever Mother kissed me, she also said "I love you" or "good night." Kisses were interlocked with love in my mind.

Aaron closed his books on the porch, then slipped through the backyard gate. All the houses on our street backed into a leafy forest that made for the best of adventures. When I saw Aaron sprint into the woods, all the while glancing here and there like a wanted man, I knew I had to join him. As much as I hated being with him, I knew I couldn't miss out on whatever adventure he was planning.

But first, I had to straighten something out. "Mommy?"

"Yes, Sean?"

"Do you love Aaron?"

"Of course I do."

"Why?"

"Why? Because he's my son. And so are you. I love both of you."

I looked down at my garish shoes, thinking it over. I guess when she put it that way, it was kind of her job to love us. And what was love? Kisses?

"Mommy?"

"Hmm?"

"Does Daddy love Aaron?"

Her silence made me feel uneasy. She looked down at her laundry and ran one of Father's white work shirts through her fingers. "I'm sure he does, Sean."

I knew it. Of course he did. Mother and Father were good people. We all loved each other. Mother wouldn't lie.

I got up, abandoning the plastic troops on the step. "Well, I'm gonna explore."

"Be back for supper. Before supper."

The woods put a hush over my life. It was like walking at the feet of an army of grown-ups who were busy holding their arms up in the breeze and whispering "shhhhhhh" whenever the leaves rustled. I tended to get very quiet in the presence of grown-ups, or any tall figures, and at my age the crowded trees took on a parental authority. I walked silently by, eager to reach the clearing by the stream with the fallen logs that made great bridges.

I stopped at the edge of the stream. The gentle chatter of rolling water licked against the large rocks where I knelt. I breathed in the leafy, mossy scents and gazed down at the shiny pebbles. This would be a great place to sit with Father, I thought. I hadn't been out in the woods with him in such a long time. Perhaps I should ask him to go exploring with me and...

I held my breath and looked up. Aaron sat on a rock a ways downstream. Though he had his back to me, I could tell he was holding something that he stared at intently.

I got up and walked stealthily over loose stones and pebbles. Three feet from Aaron's perch, I slipped on an uneasy rock. My hand shot out to catch me but I splashed face-first into the shallow water. Almost immediately, I felt a pair of hands scooping me up and moving me, not too gently, to a sturdy boulder above the current. Aaron touched my face and arms, checking me for injuries.

"Are you hurt?"

I shook my head.

Aaron pulled back and retrieved what he had apparently been holding before. It looked like a black, leather-bound notebook, and he wiped it off with care. "You shouldn't be here," he said angrily.

"I wanted to see what you were doing."

"'Course you did." Aaron sat with the book on his knees. I couldn't read yet, but I saw gold letters engraved on the cover.

"What's that?" I pointed.

Aaron said nothing, and for a moment I knew he wouldn't tell me. Then he slowly opened the book, and I saw that many coins in plastic pockets had been pasted to the pages. I leaned over, but Aaron held out a hand to keep me from toppling into the stream again. "It's my collection," he said. He turned to the first page and worked a penny from its plastic covering. Holding it up to the fading sunlight, he asked, "Know what this is?"

I cocked my head a little, unimpressed. "Sure. It's a penny."

"A 1965 penny. The year I was born. Dad gave it to me when I was about your age and challenged me to find one for the year he was born."

"When was that?"

"1944. I've been searching so long for just one 1944 penny, but it seems I'll never find it."

"What about all those other coins?"

"Other interesting coins, that's all. I collect rarities and special dates. It gives me something to do."

I didn't entirely understand, but I had never seen him so interested in something before.

"Here." Aaron turned to another page and removed another penny. "This was made the year you were born. You may as well have it."

Again, I didn't grasp the significance. But I pocketed the penny, thinking it might come in handy someday if I was short-changed.

Aaron sat in silence for another minute, flipping through the book. The old coins didn't really concern me. But something else had to be asked.

"Aaron, do you think Daddy loves you?"

He looked up abruptly and his expression came across as half-surprised and half-angry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I leaned back defensively. "Just a question."

"Well, it's a silly question. I think you know the answer."

Right then, I didn't. Even though Mother confirmed his love, I was once again staring into the face he'd brutalized and feeling the doubts return.

But I had to ask, "Do you love Daddy?"

Aaron gazed past me, eyes fixed in an intense stare. He sighed. "Yes. Sure I do, Sean."

"Okay." I got up. "Well, we have to be back before dinner. See ya."

"Coming." His voice told me something was wrong, but I didn't look back. Love was a confusing thing, and by now I began to wonder if it was little more than just a word.


	4. Chapter 4 -- Somebody Else's Crime

_A word of warning here: This could be a tough chapter. The abuse depicted here is portrayed realistically and may be difficult to read about. The abuse itself is not graphic, but the psychological build-up might be a bit intense. Just so you know what's ahead._

Home life was tense over the next few days because Father had lost a case. More beer cans appeared around the house. He played with me less. I didn't feel like I could join him in front of the TV because the shows he had on strayed far from our usual fare. So I wandered quietly somewhere else to play with my toys alone.

In the evenings, Aaron spent every moment hunched over the kitchen table or in his room, scrambling to complete heaps of homework. I used to look forward to school very much, but now the idea worried me. If I ended up doing nothing _but_ schoolwork all the time, they way Aaron did, I would just choose not to go after all.

I hardly noticed what Mother did anymore. She didn't hang around in the kitchen or tiny living area like she used to. I couldn't imagine what she needed to spend so much time in her room or in the yard for. Was I boring her?

Some evenings, Mother spent all her time in the yard or in her room. I forgot she was even home. Father would pull up, come inside with a heavy sigh, and yank off his tie before collapsing in front of the TV. Usually Aaron ignored him from the table in the next room. He was absorbed to the point of obsession in his schoolwork.

Lately, though, Aaron managed to pull himself from his studies long enough to engage me in a little game. While Mother was invisible and Father was still on his way home from work, Aaron challenged me to find the best and cleverest hiding place in the house. We called it "Cleaning the Playroom," because it marked the end of a day playing and because every cool game needs a codename. The rule was that if he couldn't find me in thirty minutes, I got to sleep in his big-kid bed under the awesome painting of pirates on a raid. Funny thing was, he rarely ever found me. I started to wonder if he was even searching and concluded that he just wanted to get rid of me.

The Hotchner family seemed severely disconnected in this time. I rarely saw my parents, and I spent most of my time wondering what kind of secrets the other three members of the family shared. I started to understand what loneliness felt like and how much it hurt.

One day I was elated to find Mother whitewashing the rotting backyard fence and asking for my help. The activity sounded tedious, but the prospect of joining Mother in some sort of activity could make me do almost anything. She gave me a brush, and together we painted for hours. Before long, even the excitement of doing something with Mother was barely enough to keep me working.

We finished the first can about the time Aaron came home. He smiled and waved at us before going inside, and I almost fell over in shock at the sight of his brilliant white teeth. Wait, did he really smile? Well, he probably just enjoyed seeing us do all the work.

Mother then asked me to fetch another can of paint. As I passed Aaron in the kitchen, I saw that any hint of a smile was already lost in his concentration of studying. His usual furrowed stare had taken over his features again. Oh well.

The basement was more of a cellar, really, and it stank of mildew and rat poison. Metal shelves held gardening equipment and power tools as well as more boxes than I would know what to do with. It wasn't a pleasant place, or very well-lit, so I hurried to find the white paint and hugged it in my tiny arms. I struggled to lift the can up the short wooden steps. As I neared the top, I noticed a rather significant crack in the lid. That was when I tripped.

I managed to catch myself, but the can rolled from my arms. I watched a smear of white paint splash from the crack onto the brownish carpet behind the sofa. I scrambled to right the can before anybody noticed.

But it was too late. I heard Aaron's pencil clatter on the linoleum in the adjacent kitchen and saw him spring to his feet. "Sean! Did you trip again?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay!"

I couldn't keep him back. Aaron stared in dismay at the cloud-shaped stain soaking into the carpet. I held the can tightly but could not wish away the mess. "I didn't! No, I didn't mean to! I'm sorry."

"Tell that to Mom." Aaron sounded frustrated, but also winded. I hadn't noticed the color drain from his face until I gathered the nerve to look up.

My main concern was for myself and my plea bargain. "I didn't mean to! Can we cover it? Will it come out? Should I wash it?"

"Just..." Aaron held up a hand. "Calm down. Take that can to Mother and tell her what happened. I can't believe you were so clumsy."

Neither could I. Four-year-old coordination was supposed to be more dependable than a toddler's, wasn't it?

The news of the mess made Mother gasp. She quickly recovered and wiped my confessional tears away. "Don't worry about it," she said. "We'll clean it up."

She walked with me back inside. There we saw Aaron on his knees, frantically piling paper towels on the spill and dabbing it up.

"Is it very much?" asked Mother.

Before Aaron could answer, we heard the sound of a car door slam. He looked up at Mother and me, and I saw a look of stark terror in his eyes. Though I didn't completely understand his need to be afraid, I felt the fear rubbing off on me. I clung to Mother's leg, whimpering, "What's gonna happen? Am I in trouble?"

"No, honey." Mother got down on my level and gave me a short lecture about being more careful. Though she seemed forgiving, I did not feel free from facing more trouble. All of a sudden, a clenching, icy fear spread up my chest. Father was home. Would he do to me what I had once seen him do to Aaron? What if he was in a bad mood again today?

The kitchen door opened, and everybody stood. I felt Mother's hands on my shoulders. They may have been the only thing keeping me upright. Father's stocky figure paused in the doorway, staring. His tie hung askew, as it always did lately. His black hair and goatee shone with sweat. And his eyes glided from me to Mother to Aaron before resting on the heap of paper towels on the carpet behind the rug.

I was too afraid now to even cry. Father let the door swing shut behind him, and then he slowly undid his tie. His gaze continued sweeping his family and the crime scene, but he said nothing. Dropping his tie and coat on the linoleum, Father sank into one of the kitchen chairs.

"So," he said.

My breath caught in my throat.

"Where's dinner?"

Mother walked around me to the kitchen. "It's coming, dear."

As she passed Father, he reached for her chin and pulled her close for a quick kiss. Still holding her face close to his, he said in a low, threatening tone, "It had better be."

I wasn't ready to feel relieved just yet. The pressure might be off of me for a moment, but I knew I couldn't escape forever.

With one sweep of his arm, Father knocked all of Aaron's books to the floor. The sudden thump startled me and sent my pulse racing afresh.

"Get these out of here," he ordered.

Aaron hurried to gather his scattered books and papers and carried the load upstairs. Mother busied herself scrambling eggs. I felt completely vulnerable standing alone in the living area.

"Set the table, Sean," said Father.

I obeyed. Whenever I set a dish close to him, I flinched, afraid he would strike. Still, no punishment.

Aaron returned and we all sat down to a meager supper. My stomach felt too twisted to eat. Across the table from me, I noticed Aaron hadn't touched his food either. Our parents ate in silence while my heart beat a staccato rhythm on my ribs.

When Father finished, he leaned back and unbuckled his belt. "Alright," he said. "What happened here?"

Mother's hand went to her face. I felt my head get dizzy. Aaron didn't look up from his plate.

"Anyone going to tell me?"

"It was paint, Dad," Aaron spoke up.

I felt ready to die as I waited for my brother to tattle on me.

"I spilled it."

I knew I hadn't heard him right. I looked up at him in shock. He maintained steady eye contact with Father, looking totally unafraid. Mother buried her face in her hands.

Too suddenly to process, Father's disposition changed. In one motion, he slipped off his belt, got to his feet, and grabbed Aaron by the collar. Mother made a weak grab for her oldest boy's hand, but Father yanked him away and dragged him to the basement. Apart from gripping the hand that dragged him, Aaron did not resist.

My jaw was hanging slightly and tears stood out in my eyes. "But, Mom, he can't... _I_ did it!"

Mother wiped her eyes and sighed, resigned. "Come on, let's clean up."

"But..." I never would have expected to feel so defensive of my brother. The brother I hardly knew. The brother who rarely smiled and rarely cut me any slack. The brother who, deep down inside, I thought I hated! But now, how could Mother stand by and do nothing?

Then it began. Through the kitchen floor, I could hear the frightening, whiplike sound of what must have been the belt lashing through the air, followed by repeated whacks. A few voices, a thud, a shout. More lashes. On and on. I cowered, and Mother put her arms around me. Unable to hold it in, I started sobbing like I'd never sobbed before. And this time, for perhaps the first time, I actually felt very bad for Aaron. I didn't understand everything that was going on, but I knew that I wanted him not to be in any more pain. I wished he hadn't spoken up. I wished that I had taken the blame for my own mistake.

But at the same time, I knew that had I taken the blame, I would already be lying dead in that horrible basement.


	5. Chapter 5 -- Lonely Tears

The night after I spilled paint on the carpet, I could not sleep. My eyes stared as wide as they could go into the darkness. My breath hitched with lingering sobs, and salty trails had crusted around my eyes. How could Aaron take the punishment I deserved?

The question that really wouldn't leave me alone was, did Aaron survive? The beating had lasted nearly an hour. I hadn't heard him go to bed next door, though I had heard my parents retreat across the hall. I had to get up and find him.

My bare toes touched the ground and I stopped. What if I found his body lying in a pool of blood? Would I be able to call the police on my own father, my closest friend...?

I lowered my face with the fresh deluge of tears. How could I consider Father my friend anymore, after what he did to my brother? Not that I cared much for my brother to begin with, but all the same, nobody deserved to be hurt so badly.

Never mind that now. The floorboards felt cold to my feet, and I shivered in my PJ's. Get a sweater... no, find Aaron.

I opened the door without a sound. I had practiced that trick for years and no one even knew it. Wrapping my arms across my torso, I tiptoed to the top of the stairs. What I might find frightened me. I tucked my hands under my arms to shield against the cold, took a deep breath, and proceeded.

I only made it down a few steps before I stopped cold. I crouched on the step and pressed my face between the bars of the railing.

I saw Aaron kneeling alone over the white stain on the floor, scrubbing hard with both hands on a towel, guided only by the dim light of a table lamp. He trembled as he worked, and he kept reaching around to his back, almost convulsively, as if trying to catch an insect or squeeze out some evasive discomfort. He made a strange sound, too, and I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach that he was crying. I had never seen him cry before.

The longer I watched, the more unpleasant details I noticed—the small red stains on the back of his gray T-shirt, the tears dripping down his chin and to the ground, the awkward way his shoulders moved as he scrubbed. And were those welts on his arms? I wondered for a moment if I should help him. But I couldn't take this any longer. I was about to start crying again. Quietly, I turned and crept up the stairs.

I took refuge in my bed, trying with all my might to squeeze the truth from my mind. The sound of Aaron crying softly to himself haunted me for several nights.


	6. Chapter 6 -- The Survival Option

Now whenever I saw him, Aaron wore that navy blue jacket with a white zipper. Didn't matter that the sun was full and bright outside, he kept those sleeves long.

For a couple days, everything went on as usual. Father went to work and came back in time to get wasted before supper. Mother retreated into a world of her own and only let me in when I desperately needed attention. Aaron went to school in his jacket and returned home in his jacket, hardly ever saying a word. He no longer did homework in the open but always behind the closed door of his room.

Next weekend, just a few days after Father belted Aaron for my crime, I was crawling up and down the hall with matchbox cars under my hands. My play was not as carefree as it used to be. Whenever I heard somebody approaching, I snatched up my toys and stood straight against the wall. I took care not to be under foot or block anyone's way. But right now the house was oddly silent. Father had lain down to rest, and Mother was out in the yard. Aaron's door was nearly closed, but not quite latched. Right then, I knew I should check on him.

Not thinking to knock, I pushed the door open. Aaron had his back to me and was busy stuffing his extra jeans and the few shirts he owned into his backpack. Now in his room, he wasn't wearing his jacket, and I could see the welts and bruises clearly on his arms. He emptied his sock drawer into the bag and threw in a couple boxes of Mac-n-Cheese from a pile of junk on his bed. He seemed very engrossed in his packing.

"Are you running away?" I asked.

Aaron wheeled around and glared. "Why don't you knock, you little—!"

Little what, I never found out. He seemed to be struggling to keep the lid on a lot of anger. I had never seen his face so red or his eyes so intently glaring. Suddenly, he pulled me by my arm out of the doorway, into the room, and pushed the door shut.

"Don't say a word to anyone. Don't you dare say anything."

I nodded, eyes fixed on the small collection of personal items on the bed. Among the books and papers, I noticed a completely white record that I had never heard him play, though I remembered him saying something about beetles when he first got it. Maybe a swarm of beetles had made the record unplayable, and eaten off all the pictures as well. Strange collection of boring stuff.

Aaron took a deep breath and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I know I shouldn't be angry with you, Sean, but I can't even look at you right now. Promise me you won't say a word about what I'm doing, then get out of here and go play." He crossed his arms and looked away as if in shame.

I realized what needed to be done. I bit the quiver in my lip, then said, "I'm really sorry I tripped, Aaron. I'm sorry Dad hurt you, and I'm sorry I didn't help you clean up."

"You don't need to apologize. Just get out."

I made a move toward the door, but stopped and looked back. Aaron stood with arms crossed, rocking slightly on his heel, head turned to the wall. He was waiting for me to disappear.

"Can you tell me where you're going?" I asked.

Aaron shook his head stiffly. "Someplace he'll never find me."

I looked down at my mismatched shoes, thinking about my hero-turned-hurter. Maybe it would be best if I left too before things got really bad between us. "Can I come too?"

"No, you cannot. I barely have enough to survive on my own. I can't look after you too."

"What about Mom? Have you told her?"

Aaron said nothing. I placed my hand on the doorknob, wishing I didn't have to leave him like this. I wanted to know more, but I didn't want to make him angrier at me than he already was.

Something crossed my mind, and though I realized how selfish it sounded, I had to ask. "What will happen to me if you're not here?"

"What, you want me to take a thrashing for every clumsy mistake you make?" He looked at me now, eyes filled more with sorrow than anger. "Do you need me to step in every time you mess up?"

Though I did want his protection, I didn't like the way he put it. I felt bad and wished I hadn't asked the question.

Aaron's demeanor changed suddenly. He sank to a sitting position against the dresser and rested his hands on his knees. "I'm sorry. That was wrong of me to say. I don't regret any of the times I covered for you."

I frowned. Had there been more than one time? More times that I didn't even know about?

"I'm just so tired of the pain. I'm fed up with living like this, and I need a break."

I was stumped. The only solution I could think of made me feel sick, but maybe he would like to hear it. "You could just let me get in trouble when I've done something wrong."

Aaron shook his head. "No, I can't do that. Do you know how quickly Dad could kill you? He doesn't know his own strength."

"But what if he kills _you_?"

"I could live with that."

His answer confused me. I took a minute to think about it.

"Why are we even talking about this?" Aaron muttered. He got up and knelt on top of his bed. From there he could lean forward and brace his hands on the frame of the open window. "_This_ close to freedom," he whispered.

"Well, goodbye, I guess," I said.

"I'm not leaving."

Relief fountained in my chest. "You've changed your mind? I'm so glad. Can we play ball together?"

"No. I really do need you to get out of my room. The truth is, Sean, I can't stand you. But I love you too much to leave you alone with Father."

I frowned at the back of his head. "You love me?"

Aaron turned to face me. "Yes, I do. I mean that." He reached for the open biology book on his pillow and sat back with it on his lap. "You know, according to the theory of evolution, there's really no such thing as love. They say every action is ultimately selfish. They say love is something that furthers your own survival, a means to an end. Well, little brother, I want you to recognize this flaw before you have to study it in school. There is no science for love, no chemicals. I've been studying my eyes out and I haven't found an explanation that suits me. I can choose to survive, _or_ I can choose to love." He looked a little pale as he said it: "This kind of love could get me killed, but it's all I have to live for."

I didn't fully understand, but if he wanted to put his life on the line to ensure my safety, I would walk away eternally grateful.

"Go on, Sean. I've got to study for a test."

As I opened the door and slipped out, I looked back at my brother. My mysterious, serious, loving older brother. "I love you, too," I said, and closed the door.


	7. Chapter 7 -- Paid Silence

Last night had been another one of _those_ nights. I lay awake for hours in the safety of my room, listening to the thuds and crashes that I used to attribute to Aaron's clumsiness. Why did this keep on happening? How much longer could he take it? The idea of him actually running away hung over me. I didn't want him to leave, but at the same time I hated to see him hurt.

That morning, I was up extra early and shared a silent breakfast with Aaron. I looked over my cereal at my brother. Specks of dried blood peppered the left side of his face, and I saw a deep cut above his eye. He picked at his cereal with his right hand, which worried me a little. Aaron was left-handed.

I couldn't imagine what he'd been beaten for this time, but it almost didn't bother me as much as I expected. I realized I was getting used to the fact that Father beat Aaron all the time. It was a part of life now, expected and unremarkable. Though I hated the jaded feeling, I didn't know how to fight it. Father's violence and Aaron's injuries no longer shocked me.

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and we both tensed up. Father appeared in the kitchen, looking very tired and repressed. He watched us as he knotted his tie, and I thought he looked a little sad. Dark circles sagged under his eyes. He coughed a few times.

Then he approached the table.

Aaron studied his corn flakes with the same intensity he studied algebra. Father sat down and folded his hands on the table in front of him. He cleared his throat, and I looked up in anticipation of what he would say. I waited a full minute.

Then Father spoke in a very low, croaky voice. "You know I love you both very much."

Aaron and I made no reply. I began pondering if Father even knew what love was.

His fist slammed on the table, rattling the dishes and making me jump. "Well, I do!" he bellowed.

"Yes, Father," I said timidly, though I had trouble believing it.

Father wrested his wallet from his back pocket and fished out a five dollar bill. He slapped the money onto the table in front of Aaron but kept his hand over it. "You fell off the porch into the rock bed out back. Got it? Fell face-first on those bigger rocks."

Aaron barely registered any expression. Finally he nodded. Father withdrew his hand.

"And you," he said, turning suddenly to me.

I cowered. What had I done?

"You just keep it together. I don't want any trouble, hear?"

I nodded quickly.

Father got up and took a beer can from the fridge. He popped it open on his way out the door. I saw that his tie was not straight as he left.

Not until I heard the car pull away could I breathe easy again. Aaron got up and carried his half-empty bowl to the sink. He started washing the dishes with only his right hand while his left hung limply at his side.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the back door opened. Had Father returned? But no, it was Mother. My relief lasted only a few seconds until I saw her face more clearly.

My spoon fell and I jumped to my feet, letting out a scream: "Mommy!"

It was the first time in my memory that I had seen her without make-up on. And the first time that I saw the purple and yellow streaks around her eyes and jaw. Horrible, layered bruises, just like Aaron sometimes had. I felt like I would burst with shock and anger.

Mother turned away. "You're up early, Sean. Did you get enough sleep?" Her voice sounded so brittle, as if it would shatter at the lightest touch.

I wasn't listening. "He's got you too? Oh, Mommy!"

Aaron had turned at the sound of my scream and now watched the two of us. Tears welled up in Mother's eyes. "I'm alright, Sean. Don't worry about me." She walked over to Aaron and touched his face gently. "We'll get your arm looked at after school," she whispered. "I'm so sorry about all that happened."

"No, I'm sorry," Aaron whispered, and he looked into her eyes with such deep concern.

She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, murmured, "Please comfort Sean," and hurried upstairs. I heard a door slam.

Aaron set down his sudsy bowl. He crossed the kitchen to where I stood like a statue.

"Sean..."

"You knew!" I screamed, clenching my fists. I pulled away from his touch. "How long has he been hurting _Mom_? How much has he paid you not to talk about it?"

"Sean." He sounded exasperated. "Calm down. I don't take any money from Dad."

Sure enough, the five dollars still sat on the table, with Abe Lincoln staring sadly up at this hopelessly divided house.

But I didn't care about that now. Tears burned my eyes. "All those sounds I heard... You _and_ Mom... why? Why?"

"I don't know why this is happening to us. But I do know—"

"WHY CAN'T YOU STOP HIM!"

Aaron was very much on the verge of tears himself. "Look, we can get through this. We just have to... to..."

"I hate this family!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Hands to my leaking eyes, I ran into the little bathroom under the stairs and locked the door. I sank down in the cramped space between the sink and the toilet, and I wailed like the world was over. Because it probably was.

I hardly noticed the sound of the front door closing as Aaron left for school. More likely than not, I faced a whole day alone with my tears, trying but always failing to understand the tragedy under our roof.


	8. Chapter 8 -- Guilt in a Bottle

I didn't speak to anyone in my family for a whole day. By then the loneliness began pressing like a dead weight on my heart. After another night putting myself to bed, I found that I craved human interaction. The house was silent. I was too antsy to sleep, so I got quietly up and crept to the top of the stairs.

I stopped at the sound of glass clinking on wood. The dim light of the living room lamp illuminated the very edge of the kitchen table and cast its skeletal shadow across the counters. I crouched on the top step, like I did when I watched Aaron clean the floor, and peered down into the shadowy living area.

Father slouched on the sofa, bottle in hand. Aaron sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet away. A cast encased his left wrist. Father breathed laboriously and looked very spacey. But then I realized he was speaking, and I strained to pick up his words.

"I don't know what happened. I've always put family first. My job drains me, you know? Can't think straight anymore." He blocked off his own ramblings with the mouth of his bottle. After taking a swig, he leaned his head back. "I saw this murderer come to the stand, his eyes all crazy. I knew he'd done it, I had all the evidence. I made the perfect case. Now why did they acquit? Am I a bad lawyer? Has everyone turned against me? They just can't see things my way. The whole world's gone upside-down-like. It's out of my hands. It's injustice."

Aaron listened quietly. He looked exhausted but he held himself upright.

"You remember turning nine?" Father slurred. "Took you to the big ole' Capitol, didn't I? You asked to see the President, and I walked you right up to the gate. Remember what you said? Remember?"

Aaron nodded but made no reply.

"You said, 'Why don't you become President, Daddy? You would be the best. And then we could get inside the White House whenever we felt like it!' You remember? You thought _I_ would make the best President. And I would, you know, I really would. But nobody recognizes that. Nobody but you, my dear son."

He took another swallow from the bottle before rambling on.

"You know what drove me to this job? I'll tell you. It was because of you, because I worried about the kinds of people that would make this world a dangerous place for you. All kinds of killers and sick, twisted psychopaths—I had to put them away to keep you safe. If I can't do my job anymore, I can't keep you safe. You could get hurt. The world is full of very bad people. It's my job to protect you.

"Oh, Aaron, you make me so darn angry. Why did things have to change?"

He took another long drink that emptied the bottle.

"So, have you found a 1944 penny?"

Finally Aaron spoke. "No, Dad. I can't find any."

"Well, keep on looking. There's one out there, I know it, sure as I'm born."

Aaron nodded.

"Let's put all this behind us, shall we?" said Father. "Forget it ever happened. No need for you to worry about getting hurt anymore. How does that sound?"

"I would like that very much."

"'Course you would. Of course." He muttered more drunken gibberish. "C'mere, boy." And he opened his arm wide.

Aaron got up stiffly and leaned into Father's embrace. He clearly winced as the strong arms came around him, but he did not let go. A few seconds later, Father's arms started to sag and his head lolled back. Briefly, I wondered if he had died, but then I realized he had passed out in a drunken stupor. Still Aaron did not let go. I became pretty certain Father wouldn't remember this moment, whereas Aaron did not want to forget it.

Aaron spoke softly, but I caught what he said. "It hasn't stopped for four years, Dad. It's not gonna stop tonight."


	9. Chapter 9 -- Safe at Night

_(Warning for child abuse._

_Also in this chapter are multiple nods to little details on the show. See if you catch them.)_

I sat moping on the front step. I was too young to feel so miserable. Surely this wasn't the way everyone felt at the age of four. Or did they? Was my family normal after all? I didn't know. Did other families live in fear?

I looked over at our neighbor, a man with a white moustache who was out raking leaves in his front lawn. I wondered if he carried secrets as painful as mine. Or the neighbors on the other side, the young couple who walked their Great Dane every morning. Did they live in fear of each other? What about other little kids? I had seen a boy and a girl, about twice my age but little all the same, playing down the block. Did they hide from their Daddy in the evenings, I wondered? How did they find happiness?

Just then, I saw Aaron walking up the street from the bus stop, holding his backpack strap with his right hand rather than carrying it on his back. I didn't want to see him right now because I didn't want to think about his pain. Aaron stopped at the edge of our yard. I waited for him to go inside and start nailing his head to his books, like always. Instead, I was surprised to see the hint of a smile trace his lips.

"Hey, c'mon. Go get your soccer ball."

I couldn't believe my ears. Did he really mean it? Not waiting to find out, I rushed inside to find my (probably dusty) ball. Aaron dropped off his stuff in his room and rejoined me moments later in front of the house. Our's was not a busy street; nobody minded children playing on the road and sidewalks. I had dreamed of being one of those children for much too long.

Aaron laid one of our empty trash cans on its side next to our fence and played goalie. I felt my spirit soaring free at last as I ran and kicked the ball toward his legs. He blocked it easily and rolled it back with a word of advice. I followed his tips each time and worked on my aim. When I landed a perfect kick that sent the ball thudding into the bottom of the trash can, Aaron actually cheered for me.

"You should be a soccer coach!" I squealed, delighted.

"Sure, maybe someday," said Aaron. "Now let's go at it again."

This time I kept the ball as long as I could, dribbling it furiously with my feet. Aaron jumped into the fray and tried to gain control of the ball, but I held up my hands and warded him off each time. It must have looked silly—the tiny squirt aggressively fending off the lanky teenager. Aaron must have thought so, because he laughed. It was the first time I had ever, ever heard him laugh. And such a funny, falsetto laugh. He sounded truly happy, and I couldn't help laughing along. It was just what I needed.

The only thing that could ruin the moment pulled up the street soon after. We stopped playing and I picked up the ball. Father's blue car came to a grinding stop on the gravel in front of the house. I followed Aaron's gaze and saw the six-pack on the dashboard.

Father stood out of the car and slammed the door. He wasn't entirely steady as he cast a fiery glare at us.

All our neighbors had gone inside. It must be our turn now. Though the fun was over, I was so grateful for that moment of joy with my brother. I wouldn't forget that.

As Father came storming in our direction, Aaron turned to me. "I need you to clean the playroom, okay? It's a mess!"

It took me a second, but I recognized the codename for the game we invented. "Okay, I'll clean it up!" I said, and hurried past Father to the front door. If Father had been thinking clearly, or simply been sober, he would have known there was no playroom in his house. But he didn't seem to notice, and I got safely inside.

I hurried to the last good hiding place I had tried out, the cupboard under the upstairs bathroom sink. I fit in there perfectly, and I had told Aaron it was the best place to hide. I climbed in under the pipes and squeezed myself next to soap bottles and toilet paper. I eased the door shut, and then waited.

It must have been about thirty minutes before the cupboard door opened. Aaron peered inside, sporting a nosebleed. He looked at me for a minute in that tight space, then nodded. "Good hiding. You're safe now."

As I crawled out after him, I realized how good it felt to finally have someone I could feel safe with. Though Aaron spent the rest of that day doing homework, I felt significantly more optimistic about life and at least more secure than before. I hung out just outside his room, and he didn't seem to mind. I knew he would protect me.

The news that Aaron had an appointment for a dental filling the next day hit me like a rock. I heard Aaron begging Mother to bring me along to the appointment, but she insisted she needed to talk to him alone in the car. She then reassured him that I would stay in my room all afternoon and not bother Father. She came to me and told me to play quietly in my room with the door closed until she and Aaron returned from the dentist. I absolutely dreaded the idea, but what could I do?

The afternoon started out fine. When I tired of driving my cars in circles under my bed, I gathered all my picture books to flip through. I tried to relax. I hadn't heard a sound from downstairs. With luck, Father had forgotten I was in the house.

I finished the book with pictures of a chef in a restaurant. Suddenly I heard a thump on the stairs. I stiffened and put all the books aside. I hopped off my bed and watched the door warily. Nothing.

Just as I turned away, the door banged open. I whirled around, staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Father looked livid. The smell of beer made me feel sick.

I felt light-headed and terrified. I didn't know where to go or what to say. It was like being thrown into the pilot's seat of a jet going 500 miles per hour without any prior instructions or advice. And with the windows all covered up. I felt myself on a collision course with a mountain. Where was Aaron to land the jet?

"Quit staring like an idiot!" Father bellowed. HIs drunkenness matched his boiling anger. "I have had it. I should not have lost that prosecution! Someone has to pay for the crime. Someone must pay!"

My pulse thundered in my ears. "Please don't—" I began pleading.

His flying palm cut me off. It set half my face on fire and knocked me to the ground. I screamed as I fell.

"Shut up!" Father yelled, and slapped me again. The pain was unbearable; I thought my face would split in two. I was seeing double. Completely petrified, I could do nothing as he lifted me by my shirt and slapped me down again. Explosions of pain rocked every bone in my head. If my skull didn't shatter soon, I knew my nose would come off.

Hot, wet blood streamed from my nose down my face. I started choking on it.

"Cut that out!" ordered Father as he raised his hand to strike again.

The sound of the phone ringing downstairs was like sweet ointment to my wounds. My body, tensed in anticipation of more pain, relaxed as Father went grumbling and staggering away to answer the call. Had he not been interrupted, I am sure I wouldn't have lasted much longer.

And then the flood of fireworks tore through my face. My cheeks felt hot and damp. The pain wracked through my head in a white wave so powerful my vision spotted. Blood kept dripping from my nose down the front of my shirt. How could Aaron take this nearly every day and on a much more extreme level? On top of everything else, I felt like throwing up.

I sat there curled up next to a bedpost, hands tucked between my knees, staring straight at the striped wallpaper without moving. I remained frozen like that for at least twenty minutes, all the while praying that Father would not return. I didn't notice any sounds the way my ears rang. I don't think I even blinked in that time.

Next thing I knew, someone knelt beside me and a hand touched my shoulder. I flinched and tried to crawl away.

"Sean, Sean, it's okay, it's Aaron."

I wiped my eyes and looked up into his stricken face. Aaron looked like he'd just seen a dead body get up and walk around, so great was his distress.

"Sean, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry..."

"It hurts," I managed.

"I know. I'm so sorry."

His hands shook as they brought a tissue to my nose. He almost seemed afraid to touch me, afraid to move or do anything. I tried to relax, knowing he understood my pain and my terror. I had to trust him.

"Come with me and I'll get you cleaned up," he whispered in a shaky voice.

Aaron helped me stand and guided me with a hand on my shoulder across the hall to the bathroom. He then closed the door and set me on the counter edge. He spoke softly as he prepared a wet washcloth and antiseptic.

"I remember the first time he hit me. I still don't know why it started. It's very scary, but you'll get past it. It will become nothing more than a bad memory."

I looked at my bruised, swollen face in the mirror. I didn't think I could ever get past this one. The pain was unforgettable.

The cleaning materials stung my face and I tried to pull back. But Aaron held me in place with his right hand on my arm and his left, still in a cast, dabbing the wounds. His eyes shone with unshed tears the entire time.

When he finished cleaning my face and putting a Band-Aid under my eye, Aaron lifted me down from the counter. "I should never have left you alone with him," he muttered. "I can't risk letting him catch you alone in your room again. Why don't you sleep in my room?"

I sniffled.

"Come on, let's get you a clean shirt first."

Aaron fetched my pajamas and closed the door to my room. While I sat on his bed, he snuck a couple tuna sandwiches from the kitchen. Then we both sat on his bed and nibbled the stale meal.

I started to relax over supper as the pain eased up. The state of shock was wearing off, and the excitement of sleeping over with Aaron started setting in. I regained my talkative manner and started asking more questions than Aaron wanted to answer. It turned out Aaron wasn't in such a conversational mood.

I felt sleepy already and crawled under the thin covers. But Aaron seemed to think he could study for awhile before turning out the light. He had even borrowed one of Father's law books to add to his reading list. I started whining, feeling entitled to a little comfort after what I'd been through. Finally Aaron closed his textbooks and got ready to turn in. However, brotherly conflict proved unavoidable.

"Sean, you've got to move over. Get as close to the wall as you can."

"I want to be in the middle of the pillow."

"There is only one pillow. We have to share. Now scoot over."

I complied with a sigh. Aaron climbed in on his stomach beside me, and I quickly realized how cramped the dimensions of his bed were.

"You're squishing me, Aaron. Roll over."

"If I move, I'll fall. Be content."

"Can't... breathe!"

Aaron sat up on his knees. "That's enough. You have plenty of room. Unless you'd like to sleep _under_ my bed?"

"Why can't you?"

"Because it's my bed!"

But our argument was trivial and short-lived. I soon became preoccupied with finding all the squeaky parts of the mattress where the springs were weak. I shifted my weight up and down to make the springs sing.

"Are you going to sleep or not?" Aaron asked.

"Can you read me a story?"

"If you'll lie quietly."

So Aaron read me a chapter from one of his books, _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. It ended up making me hungry again, but I didn't mention this. With the lights out, we were finally ready to sleep. I noticed that Aaron would only lie on his stomach or his side, though I found it much more comfortable on my back. It occurred to me later that he still couldn't put any pressure on his wounds.

About fifteen minutes later, I heard the bang of my bedroom door being thrown open on the other side of the wall. It startled me out of a light doze. Then I heard Father bellow, "Where are you, little brat? I'm gonna finish what I started!"

Fear gripped me, and I moved closer to Aaron. He sat straight up.

"He's losing his mind," Aaron muttered. He swung his legs out of bed and moved the lamp from the dresser to the floor. Thumping and crashing sounds shook the wall, along with shouts of my name. I trembled and whimpered. Panting, Aaron pushed his short dresser from the corner and planted it in front of the door. Then he rejoined me.

"Don't make a sound," he whispered.

It was hard not to. Judging by the noises, Father had left my room and was heading for Aaron's.

A fist shook the door. "Aaron! Sean! Where are you pieces of trash?"

A faint cry escaped my lips. Aaron's hand clamped over my mouth.

The doorknob rattled like the tail of a desert snake. More thumps shook the door in its frame.

"Aaron! I'm going to bust your head in! Then I'm going to find your brother and break his spine. You two are _finished_!"

I felt the blood leave my face. The hand over my mouth felt clammy. I wanted to cry.

A vertical crack of light appeared alongside the door, and I gasped. But Father could not open the door any further. The dresser sandwiched between the door and the bed kept us barricaded safely inside.

"It's over, Aaron! I'll get you both!" Father screamed. The door latched, and we listened to his footsteps vanish.

Aaron moved his hand away from my sore face. "I wonder what ticked him off so bad."

"He said to me that the pros—the prosec—the case thing, you know, failed, and somebody had to pay for the crime."

Aaron scoffed softly. "That's because Dad is a terrible prosecutor." He paused. Then, "You know, I've been reading about law. Thinking of going into it. How would you like to be a lawyer, Sean?"

"I dunno."

"It's a good idea. Dad's such a bad lawyer. You and me, we'll beat him at it. We'll both be better lawyers than he ever was, and we'll prosecute people just like him who beat up their families. What do you think?"

It did sound like a good idea, though I wasn't sure what it entailed. "Yeah, I'd like to do that."

"You and me. Hotchner and Hotchner. Or one of us could just go by Hotch." Aaron's excitement surprised me, but it was good to hear his positive enthusiasm. "We'll do it. Promise you'll go with me on it?"

I was relishing the brotherly friendship that was so new to me. If this Hotch and Hotchner idea of his made him excited to be brothers, I was all for it. I knew I could learn more later. Yawning, I gave my agreement. "I promise. Let's be lawyers."


	10. Chapter 10 -- To the Finish

_(I'll just say, this chapter didn't turn out at all like I planned. Once I started writing, a whole new series of events just unfolded. It probably surprised me as much as it did the Hotchner boys. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. At this point, you can probably expect two more chapters, though now I'm torn over which ending to go with. And sorry for any typos I may have missed)_

Early the next morning, I was busy making sleep impossible for my brother by climbing on top of the dresser, jumping down onto the squeaky mattress, and repeating the cycle. After grumbling a bit, he finally surrendered to the dawning light breaking through the blinds and got dressed in jeans and a red polo shirt. I watched as he tried to smooth his dark cowlicks into place. He missed a few.

The memories of last night hung around my thoughts like a fog, though I tried not to think about them. Seeing Aaron all ready to face another day brought a ray of light into the mist. Sure my face ached, but I wasn't worried about that anymore. Aaron had kept me safe all night.

He moved his dresser back to the corner, and I followed him downstairs. "Dad should be on his way to work right now," said Aaron as he put a half-empty cereal box on the table. "You just stay with Mom and try to—"

I frowned, waiting for the rest of the sentence. But Aaron's gaze was fixed beyond me. His eyes had grown with horror. I looked over my shoulder and saw the shockingly scarlet puddle of blood on the floor next to the sofa. I felt a clenching sensation in my throat as I tried to breathe. Little shards of glass glimmered like diamonds all over the carpet, but there was nothing beautiful about the mess. Every few inches, a withered wildflower lay carelessly strewn. It was a gut-twisting visual cacophony: blood, glass, flowers.

Aaron headed straight for the living area. I tried to follow, but he held out a hand to stop me. "I don't want you walking on glass. Stay where you are."

From where I stood, I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. I couldn't locate the glass vase with flowers that always stood on the lamp table. That probably accounted for half the mess. But the rest? My thoughts immediately went to poor mother. Had Father attacked her in his inability to get at my brother and I? Was I too deeply asleep last night to hear anything break?

"Oh, please, no." Aaron recoiled from his examination. He used his handkerchief to pick something off the couch and held it out of sight.

"What?" I had to know.

"Stay back!"

"I am! What's wrong, Aaron?"

"Everything's wrong. We've got to find Mom right now."

He hurried past me into the kitchen, his stockinged feet tracking red splotches on the linoleum. I knew he had stepped on glass, but now I was more concerned with seeing what he had found on the couch. Aaron dropped the item into the sink, out of sight. When he ran to the door to grab his shoes, I got on my toes and peered into the sink. There lay a six-inch long kitchen knife stained to the hilt with blood.

Discolored spots exploded in my eyes. My head felt cold and fizzy, and as my eyes rolled back into my skull, I toppled over backwards. The kitchen dissolved to blackness.

I don't know how many minutes or hours or maybe days passed before cold water broke into my faint. I gasped, and light flooded my vision. Aaron helped me sit up slowly.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You passed out a minute ago." Aaron's voice sounded an octave too high. "Tell me, did Dad hit you in the head? Have you been feeling dizzy?"

I stared at his wide eyes. "No. I saw... I saw the knife. Oh, Aaron! Is Mommy alright?" Tears began streaming down my face.

"I don't know. But we have to look for her. Are you going to be okay to sit here for another minute?"

"I'm coming with you."

"Alright. Take it easy."

He helped me tie my shoes and then began searching every room in the house. I followed closely, my heart pounding uncomfortably hard. Nobody was in any of the bedrooms, the bathrooms, or the basement. No one was in the shed that called itself a garage, though the car was missing. I followed Aaron around back. Mother's minute garden was caught in the dying stages. Sheets and collared shirts rippling in the breeze on the clothesline. Aaron noticed a bloody handprint on the corner of one sheet.

"I'm scared!" I told him.

I knew he was too, but he didn't say so. "Stay close to me."

We waded through the tangled weeds and thistles. Dead branches scratched my arms, but I didn't let that bother me. Aaron knelt beside the overturned laundry basket and carefully lifted one side. Beneath it I saw the broken base of the vase that was missing.

I didn't feel like we were getting any closer to finding Mother. "Why don't we call the police?" I whispered.

Aaron shook his head. "Dad disconnects the phone line whenever he's not at home. Otherwise I would have called the cops four years ago."

In the back of my head, I wondered if it was more than a coincidence that the abuse started around the time I was born. Quickly pushing this thought aside, I went after Aaron as he exited through the gate.

"What about our neighbors?" I asked. "We could knock and ask to borrow the phone."

"Maybe. I don't want them getting involved, but if it comes to that..."

We stood at the edge of the woods. Another several acres to search. The last thing I wanted to see was Mother's broken body bleeding to death at the base of a tree. That was the stuff of horrific crime shows I glimpsed on Dad's TV—it had no place in the Hotchners' world.

I took a step toward the treeline, then stopped and looked back. My panic level skyrocketed at what I saw. "Aaron, look out!" I screamed, but it was too late. Seemingly emerging from nowhere, Father rushed up behind him swinging a hefty stick that crashed between my brother's shoulders. With a sharp gasp, Aaron fell face-first into the grass. Father looked deranged as he raised the stick again. Aaron lifted himself on his elbows, only to be struck down again by a swift blow. He moaned and curled up against the pain.

I stepped back, cringing. Father looked terrible. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was spattered with blood. He breathed heavily, and I saw that one forearm had been wrapped in a bloody bandage. His eyes were bloodshot and looked possessed.

"So, you think you can run away?" he panted.

I looked from him to my crumpled-up brother and back. "Where's Mom?" I tried hard to keep my voice steady.

"You'll never see her again. And you two are next."

"I don't believe you," I stammered.

"Do you believe this?" Father seized Aaron's collar and pulled him up into a chokehold. Aaron's fingers pried at the arm that tightened across his trachea, but it didn't budge. He made small, sputtering noises but couldn't catch a complete breath. "I can't leave any witnesses," growled Father. "You can both join your mother now."

"No!" Emboldened by a flash of anger, I ran up to Father and started hammering his arm with my tiny fists. "Let him go!"

One arm shot out and knocked me onto my back. I found a rock, got back up, and threw it at my father's head. It whacked his temple. He hollered and dropped Aaron into the grass. Suddenly I had a problem. He picked up the stick again, but this time he was looking at me like some kind of furious reaper.

On all fours, Aaron heaved and tried to pull air into his lungs. Now I knew I would die. As I looked up at my killer, I noticed that the bandage on his arm had slipped. Now I could see a long, recent cut. An ounce of hope hit me.

"Did Mom stab you? Was that your blood on the knife?"

Father let out an angry, guttural yell and swung back the stick.

I ran for cover, yelling over my shoulder, "She's still alive, isn't she?"

Father bounded after me. I darted toward the narrow space between the house and the shed. A trash can stood in my way. I collided full-force, sending both the can and myself into the dirt. Soggy paper wads and rotting food splattered on my hands and face. I struggled to get up quickly, but already Father's shadow had reached me. I tried to pull myself up on the brick wall, but my hand slipped on the spilled garbage. I started pleading as the monster towered over me.

To my relief, I saw Aaron run up behind Father. He sprang catlike onto the man's back and reached for his weapon. Propelled by the sudden weight, Father stumbled forward into the wall of the shed, and Aaron caught his arm. The stick dropped. A second later, so did Aaron. He landed on his feet and used both his hands to hold back Father's right arm. Father's left hook shot out and cracked him over his cast. Aaron recoiled, eyes squeezed shut, mouth widening in a silent scream. He clutched his left wrist to his chest and tucked his chin down. It was all the time Father needed. He took Aaron's head in both hands and pushed it back into the wall of the shed. I heard a board crack. Aaron's eyes lolled and his body went limp. Only Father's big hands still held him up.

I had finally gotten to my feet and wrapped my little hands around the thick handle of a shovel. Staggered by its weight, I dragged it through the dirt and swung it around with all my strength. The metal crashed into Father's leg, and he screamed. He tried to take a step toward me, but his leg folded.

Aaron had caught himself on the only trash can left standing. He looked dazed, but he wasn't out like I'd feared. When he saw how I momentarily crippled our attacker, he took my hand and led me toward the street. He swayed a little as he walked, but he tried to keep up a quick pace.

I glanced back. "He's still coming, Aaron."

And this time he wielded the shovel.

Aaron was slowing down. I kept pulling on his arm as we ran down the gravel drive. "Keep running!" I urged him.

We entered the narrow, empty street. I glanced to and fro, trying to decide which way to run. Aaron held his head with his free hand, and I felt solely responsible for guiding him to safety. Father had reached the sidewalk only a few feet away, and our strength was waning. I knew we couldn't outrun him. I had to do something, fast. While Aaron stumbled to his knees, still holding his head, I came around behind him and spread my arms, creating as wide a shield as I could. Father slowed down before me and drew back the shovel over his head.

"You want to die, you brat?"

I wanted to say something brave, but I couldn't speak. I was terrified. I stood as still as I could with my arms spread out, waiting for the death blow. For a second, the only sounds on the street were Aaron's wheezes and groans behind me.

But then another sound rose in the air. Sirens. Genuine emergency sirens! Father froze, shovel still raised. He looked up and saw police cars appearing down the street at the corner. He threw down the shovel only inches in front of me, making me jump. Then he turned and ran, limping, past the house and into the woods beyond the back fence.

I turned and put my arms around Aaron. He knelt hunched over, still trying to catch his breath and having trouble holding his head upright. But he managed to put his right arm weakly over my shoulders. It felt like a limp noodle. His head rested against mine.

Two squad cars pulled up beside us, lights whirling. The sirens turned off and a couple of cops emerged. "Hey, are you kids alright?" asked the taller officer.

I shook my head. The shorter officer drew his gun and approached our house. The tall one approached us. "What are your names?"

"Sean and Aaron Hotchner. Please, can you get a doctor?"

"I'm calling an ambulance, kid. Just sit tight."

I held Aaron tighter. "It'll be okay," I said. "We're safe now."

The corners of Aaron's lips turned up, but his smile came across looking like a grimace. "Yes," he whispered so faintly I hardly heard him.

I looked back up at the officer. "Do you know where my Mommy is?"

"Mrs. Hotchner called us from the hospital. I think she'll be alright."

At last I could smile. What relief! "Did you hear that, Aaron?"

Now his full weight leaned against me. I couldn't hold him up, and his head touched the asphalt. He was out cold.

The policeman came near and began asking questions. I hardly listened. Then he asked if I wanted to get inside his cruiser.

"I'll stay right here with Aaron until the ambulance comes, thank you."

The policeman nodded silently. "Alright. Suit yourself."

_Don't die on me now, Aaron,_ I thought. _I love you, big brother._


	11. Chapter 11 -- A Father's Love

The three of us sat in a row—Mother, Aaron, and me in the middle. I dangled my feet as I looked over what our family had become. Mother, a shell of her past self, had bandages over her face and a sling over her arm. She looked straight ahead, chin lifted, so stiff and mirthless as she listened to the hauntingly beautiful piano hymn. She had been out of the hospital for only a day now, and I wondered if she would ever smile again.

On my other side, Aaron sat slightly hunched in a baggy white shirt and a long red tie. A cut lip and bruises around one eye still hadn't healed. A new cast hugged his left wrist. In spite of his wounds, he had managed to comb his hair perfectly and now sat with an attentive gaze trained forward. I noticed a brand new spark in his eye, a daring look forged by endurance. Despite that vigilant look, he appeared unusually peaceful. It had been a long time since I had seen such peace fill his features.

And there I sat between them. I knew my own face was bruised, and yet I probably looked comical in my pint-sized sports jacket. I knew I could never return to the childish innocence I had once known before I became aware of the violence in my home. The little boy with a loving father had gone packing, and there I sat with a heavy feeling of disillusionment in my heart. Innocence, I would later realize, is as impossible to retrieve as babyhood. Once you've seen so much evil, you can never go back to being hand-fed a perfectly good life. But I would always long for that innocence lost, and I would always wish I could have just one day of my childhood back.

The only person missing from the family line-up was Father. He was once my best friend. I remembered his smile and the warmth of his hug. I once imagined myself growing up very close to him. I thought of him watching my graduation, crying at my wedding, playing with his grandkids. Dreams that would never come to life. I didn't know what a father was for if not to love his family by giving them a happy life. But no, love meant more than that. I had learned from Aaron's example that love meant giving up part of yourself for someone else. Real love, that I would never again find from my father, was built on sacrifice. Dad may have understood that once, but now he was a loveless stranger to me. Now he was sitting in a jail somewhere, awaiting trial for domestic violence and up to three counts of attempted murder. I didn't understand all those charges at the time, but I did know that he hurt our family beyond repair. It bothered me that my father could have such a criminal mind.

One of the policemen who rescued Aaron and me on the street told us we would have to testify in court, along with our mother. Despite my promise to Aaron to become a lawyer, and despite being the son of a lawyer, I had never before been inside a courtroom, and the idea scared me. But Aaron promised to hold my hand through it all. He was determined to see Father prosecuted.

For now, all of that was in the future. As I sat with the remains of my family on the hard church pew, I tried not to think of Father. I tried to listen to the hymns and look at the pretty colors of the windows. The last time I had been to church was for Easter service about six months ago. After that, Father decided we could use our time better and spent Sundays with me instead. At the time, I thought it was the best decision he'd ever made. I never realized how he had deprived Aaron of a much-needed respite.

Aaron leaned close and whispered, "You okay?"

I sighed. "Just thinking of Daddy. I wish he loved us."

Aaron inhaled deeply. Then he took one of the crimson-bound Bibles from the back of the pew in front of us. "I want you to meet someone, Sean. Someone who will always be your father and never hurt you. Someone who taught me the meaning of love."

"Someone in the book?"

"His name is Jesus. He lived a long time ago. The book is God's Word, and it tells us how we can know Him," Aaron whispered as he ruffled through the pages. "Listen-'This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down His life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters.' 1 John 3:16. That is how much Jesus loves us. And that's the kind of love I want to model. You see, Jesus took the punishment we deserve for our sins so that we can live forever with Him, our Heavenly Father."

Now _that_ was a concept I could understand. Someone who would take a terrible punishment in my place must be someone who really loved me. I would never forget the time that Aaron volunteered to take a savage beating for me. But Jesus lay down His _life_ so I could live! A Father who would do that for me was a father I wanted to know.

"Tell me more, Aaron."

"Listen to the man at the front. He's going to tell us how we can be adopted as sons of a loving God."

Mother leaned close on my other side. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Mom," I whispered. "I have a Father who loves me. Everything's alright."

As I eagerly prepared to learn more, I only wished Aaron had introduced me sooner. How I had longed for a Father's love.

This newfound relationship turned out to be crucial over the next few years. Unknown to me at the time, that peaceful church service would be the last time my family was together.


	12. Chapter 12 -- Two Partings

_[Hi, everybody! Okay, I know I said there would be 12 chapters (after I said 11, after I said 10), but this chapter kept growing on its own and ended up being too bloated to stand alone. Once again, I have broken it down so that there is still another chapter to come. Seriously though, Chapter 13 will probably (probably) be the last. I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think! I really appreciate the reviews.]_

Mother had fallen terribly ill. In the days leading up to Father's trial, Aaron and I were moved into the home of our paternal grandmother, someone I was not happy to be with. I was restless, angry, and confused much of the time. I acted up frequently, and only Aaron seemed able to calm me. I spent many nights crying in his room, and he volunteered much of his time to read me passages from the Bible. The more I learned about God, the more I was thankful to have Him as my Heavenly Father. God became my anchor during my distress, and I prayed fervently for Him to get us through this difficult time. Right then, I needed to learn to be gracious as much as I needed grace for myself. I hardly extended any grace to Grandmother because she was Father's mom. I didn't realize how insensitive I was to the fact that she, too, was heartbroken.

When it finally came time to testify in court, I let Aaron help me prepare. He knelt to knot my tie as he explained what to expect. He described the proceedings and what was required of us. Most of all, he encouraged me not to be afraid. "We're going to become lawyers, remember? About time we got used to speaking in a courtroom. Dad will be our first defendant to prosecute."

Once at the courthouse, I looked around for Mother. I didn't see her until we had been seated on the wooden benches of the courtroom, and I didn't recognize her at first. But there she came in a wheelchair, face crossed with a nasal cannula, hair tangled up in a bun. She tried to smile at the sight of us, but I could only gaze back in horror. Seeing her hooked up to big oxygen tanks and sitting so incapacitated weakened me. The physician who pushed her chair spoke briefly with Aaron about her condition. I gingerly took her hand.

"Be brave," she whispered. "Don't let him win."

I couldn't guarantee that anymore. When Aaron sat down beside me, he took my hands and whispered a short prayer.

Everyone gradually came to their places. I was already feeling overwhelmed. When someone mentioned the deputies coming in, I took the opportunity to look away from the witness stand.

When I turned to see the deputies, I saw Father walking between them. I felt a fleeting rush in my heart, the same exuberant feeling that used to hit me whenever Father came home from a long day of work. It was the feeling that came with knowing I hadn't seen him for awhile and we were finally reunited. Normally that feeling made me jump into his arms. Now, it ended with a sickening crash as I remembered the monster he'd become. I turned and hid my face in Aaron's coat.

The trial became a blur. Not until Aaron was called to the stand did I start paying attention. He got up and walked right past Father, looking calm and controlled in his secondhand suit and tie. Father cast a look of pure hatred at his son, and for a second, when Aaron glanced back, their eyes met. Father looked bedraggled, red-eyed, and sober. His threatening look seemed to convey the harshest demand not to testify. But Aaron turned away and continued to the stand.

From the moment he swore to tell the truth, Aaron trembled visibly. He kept missing the attorney's questions while fighting to keep his calm. He would look to one side and see Mother in her wheelchair with the physician beside her. Then he would look to the other side and see Father, the unflinching, steadily staring enemy. I knew Aaron wanted to give a strong testimony, and it was sad to see him fall to pieces at the stand. For a moment, I wondered if Father would win after all.

But then Aaron began telling his story. With a deep breath and fresh conviction, he managed to shed the fear. Before long, he appeared quite comfortable talking in court. He shouldn't have been, for the story he told made my body go numb. He related how Father had gone from loving him to hitting him for seemingly no reason at all. He described the fear he felt for himself and Mother, as they were sometimes attacked together and made to suffer in front of each other. He recounted more beatings and tortures than I could have ever been aware of. Then he mentioned his desperation and failures to keep me from harm. He calmly and emotionlessly summarized four years of senseless agony and then finally described the day Father almost killed his whole family. And the entire time, he always referred to "that man" instead of "Father."

The whole courtroom seemed stunned into silence. Tears rolled down Mother's face, whereas I felt a mixture of relief and dismay. I had only seen four years of the world, and those years had been a lie. At least now the world knew that.

Finally the prosecutor asked if there was anything more he wanted to say.

Aaron lifted his bruised face to the courtroom, fully confident at last. "Only that on the basis of this testimony and the evidence provided by our medical experts, I pray that His Honor Justice Gibson and the ladies and gentlemen of the jury can see beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty of all charges."

In that moment, I saw a glimpse of the man he would become. And I felt proud of him, but nowhere up to par for myself. Father appeared to be seething as the tables were finally turned. As a prosecutor himself, he must have been having a terrible time.

Mother's testimony was brief and took much of her energy. When my turn came, I heard murmurs and sniffles from the audience as my tiny figure tried not to get swallowed up by the big chair. I had nearly lost all my courage to speak. When the prosecutor asked me about my father, I sat up straight and glared at the face that pleaded with me from the defendant's table. "He's not my father anymore," I stated, and then I clammed up. Nobody could get another word out of me for the rest of the trial. I went back to my seat and sat silently beside my brave brother, who squeezed my shoulder gently.

I don't remember much else from the trial other than the medical expert's testimony. I had to look away from the photographs of Aaron's scarred back, broken arm, and other injuries, followed by photos of Mom. By then I was entirely ready to be done with this section of our lives and didn't need more vivid reminders.

The defense questioned the actual source of Aaron's injuries, pointed out minor conflicts in our stories, and brought attention to the fact that Father had been stabbed and hit with a shovel. I started to hate the defense attorney almost as much as I did Father, but after the jury saw Aaron, Mother, and me speak, he didn't have much of a chance.

Afterward, I heard someone mutter to her companion, "Those poor boys are ruined for life. They'll grow up to be just like him!" I didn't think much of it, but I did store the comment away in the back of my mind.

Father's verdict landed him in prison for long enough to satisfy me. It seemed life was finally on the right path to perfection. Scarcely able to comprehend our freedom, Aaron and I celebrated after the verdict by dancing to "beetles" music (still didn't know what that meant) and getting into a huge pillow fight. We ran and yelled around the house from top to bottom, not afraid of anyone stopping us. We let off enormous amounts of elation and energy for hours on end, finally experiencing the carefree play of childhood. Grandma didn't say anything as we clambered up a tree to the roof, threw apples down at the fenceposts, and loudly sang hits from the 60's. She knew we needed a moment to run wild, untethered by fear.

And so we did. We built slingshots to shoot down the last few leaves that clung to the big oak. We cooked up two or three batches of mac-n-cheese just for the heck of it. We were even tempted to spill paint on the carpet because we knew we would get away unscathed. Grandma finally had to reel us in by the time we were chasing each other with water pistols outside at 11 p.m. Only then did we start to come down from our energy high and agree that we needed to use our freedom wisely. Grandma did let us camp out in the backyard, provided we did not continue to roleplay as bears attacking a campsite. And the whole day, Aaron refused to take off the red tie he'd worn to court.

I hadn't had so much fun in recent weeks as I had in that crazy, unharnessed day. I've always looked back on that day as the best ever, because nothing mattered other than celebrating life. I hoped things would remain that way, but of course the perfection could not last long.

Aaron was silently suffering.

I noticed when he flinched at loud noises and cowered whenever somebody touched him. He avoided certain objects, such as belts, cords, bottles, and any kind of stick. On a couple occasions, I found him sitting on his bed with his arms around his knees, rocking slowly back and forth and ignoring the whole world. Once an A-student, he seemed to be failing all his classes. Now that Father was gone, I didn't understand what was wrong.

Grandma spent a lot of time on the phone with Mother and other mysterious people. Before long, the news of their plan broke.

Mother had a sister in Seattle, and she knew of a specialized boarding school for disadvantaged or troubled youth. It sounded like recuperation for years of abuse, but it meant Aaron and I would be separated by something like forty-eight states. Mother decided a change of scene and regular access to counsellors would be best for her oldest son. I decided it would be awful for her youngest. I am sure Aaron would have chosen to stay in Virginia with Mother and me, but he couldn't argue with his hospital-bound mother.

Only a week after the trial, Mother had transferred all of Aaron's classes, and Aaron had packed up for a new chapter of his life. I was reminded of the time I caught him packing in an attempt to run away from home. Both times I thought I would lose him forever. This time it really hurt, and it was all happening too suddenly.

On the day of his flight to Seattle, Aaron said a prolonged goodbye to Mother in her hospital room. Grandma had driven us to the hospital, and I waited restlessly in the hallway for my brother to return. When Aaron, again wearing his tie, emerged from the room where Mother lay surrounded by machines, I hugged his legs. He knelt so we could embrace better, and I felt my eyes dampen.

"I don't really want to go," he whispered. "But Mother's afraid I'm going to keep having bad flashbacks if I don't get some help. I'll be near Aunt Rachel and I'll write you once in a while. It will be fine."

"But what will happen to me if you leave?"

"You don't need me watching your back, Sean. You're a big boy now, and you're safe. Remember, even if everyone else leaves, your Heavenly Father loves you."

"Aaron."

"What?"

"I thought you might want this. I found it on the floor of the courtroom." I held out a rusty penny. I didn't quite get why he loved pennies so much, but perhaps he would appreciate this one.

For a few minutes, he was speechless. "A 1944 penny? How in the world...? Wow, thank you, Sean."

"Wasn't that the year Father was born?"

"That's right."

"Then why do you want the penny?"

"I suppose to remind me how different he used to be, and how anyone can change, and that I should be willing to forgive him."

"Forgive him?"

"Yes, eventually."

He enclosed the coin in his fist and looked at me closely. "Sean. Are you gonna be okay?"

I told myself to put on a brave face. I was going to keep it together and show him I could get through this. But dang those emotions! I started wiping tears with the back of my hands.

"Did you know I used to hate you, Aaron?"

"Well, I wasn't especially fond of you either."

"No, I _really_ hated you. Sometimes I wanted you to just die. You never talked to me, and I didn't know why you were even a part of the family. If I had known what was happening, what Dad was doing to you when I thought you were just making a careless racket..." I wiped more tears furiously away.

"There's no need to feel bad about how you felt then. I was just as mad at you, I'm sure. I'll admit it wasn't easy watching that man treat you the way he hadn't treated me since before you were born, and all the while knowing what he was really like. I thought you were a spoiled brat, to be honest."

I chuckled through my tears. "I was."

"But, Sean, I can't help wondering what things would have been like if there was no violence in our home. How would we have learned to love each other? I go over it in my head all the time, what things _could_ have been like, and what we could have missed. I don't understand it. I don't expect you to either."

"Aaron?"

"What?"

"I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you either."

He gave me another hug, this time holding on for much longer. I heard him sniffle and felt wetness on the back of my neck.

When finally I pulled away, I smiled at him. "Thank you for teaching me how to love."

"Well, Jesus taught me." And Aaron gave me one of his rare gifts. A smile.

I punched him playfully in the shoulder, sniffling up a chuckle. "Hey, you should smile more."

He ran a hand over my golden brown hair that was due for a trim. "And you should get a haircut. Don't wait till Thanksgiving!"

I laughed. We walked out together and then raced to Grandma's car. We rode in the back, talking and horsing around all the way to the airport. We parked outside the terminal, and Aaron gathered up his dark brown suitcase. He leaned forward between the front seats to say goodbye to Grandma. She kissed his cheek and said, "God bless you, Aaron."

Aaron gave me a handshake before getting out of the car. No more hugs, I thought. He's a man now. A man who got to fly on planes and see different parts of the country. He turned and waved one last time, standing tall and unafraid with his hair combed and his tie straightened, before disappearing into the crowd of travelers.

Grandma and I rode back to her home in silence. I wasn't quite ready to accept the dissolution of my family, but for Aaron, for Mother, and for God, I would do my best to keep my life together. I didn't realize before what a daunting task this would be. With Father in prison, Mother in the hospital, and Aaron in Seattle, I felt painfully isolated and somehow left behind. This new challenge was sure to make... or break me.


	13. Chapter 13 -- Like a Couple of Unsubs

_[I would like to offer a huge thankyou to everybody who read my story and stayed with it till the end. It has been a great experience to write. I hope to see your reviews and find out what you liked, didn't like, and thought in general. Hotch is (clearly) my favorite character on the show, so I hope I handled his character and backstory well. I also hope it makes sense when this story takes place. Thanks again, everybody, and please enjoy!]_

Sitting in a six-by-six foot cell twenty-four hours a day certainly gives a fellow plenty of time to write about his childhood. You get free room service too—crumby though the food is—and occasional viewing of television, if you choose to get out into the community area. The drug dealer on the bottom bunk isn't much of a bother. He's usually collecting orange juice from lunch in hopes of making his own alcohol, or some slop he calls "hooch." The door-sized mattress is not as thin as it could be, and I don't look half-bad in orange.

But what have I done? I'm sitting in jail while I should have entered an enjoyable career and started a family, just like Aaron did. True, his personal life suffered some. And of course, his job often seems to drain more out of him than it gives back. But at least he stayed on the right side of the law. Looking back, he's the one with more excuse to fall into crime. And yet... he did the opposite. Where did _I_ lose my way?

Sure, I had some trouble coping after Aaron left Virginia for Seattle, so many years ago. It didn't make things any easier when Mom died from her combined injuries and illnesses shortly afterward, and then Dad died of a heart attack in prison. Aaron flew in for both funerals, but I refused to attend Father's. I blamed him directly for Mother's death. However, Aaron guilted himself for not being there for Mom as she deteriorated. Apart from self-disappointment, he seemed to be dealing with his trauma much better already. I wanted to go to boarding school too, if not to get help, then to get away from the town where my life fell apart. Mother's death only added to my misery.

Aaron did write me about once a month, though I did a poor job of replying. For awhile Grandma had to read the letters to me and write what I dictated. He wrote about his studies and about Seattle, but his letters lacked a personal component that could only be attained face-to-face in the dark corners of an unstable home. Hiding together in fear were the only times we really opened up about what was deepest and most personal. Though it sounds twisted, I missed that. I needed someone real to talk to.

Around the time I entered first grade, the letters had waned substantially. But one letter stood out with its feverish, giddy scribblings. Apparently Aaron met a girl named Haley by accidentally walking into a theater rehearsal, and now he wanted my advice on being "the best fourth pirate in the world." Though I didn't fully understand the pirate connection, it was the first time I ever heard him talk about a girl. And by the sound of it, he was head-over-heels. I had a momentary vision of him joining a band of buccaneers in a harebrained scheme to impress (or possibly kidnap) his first crush. My advice was simply to keep the sword-fighting at a minimum.

My own school life was far less interesting, and I found myself struggling for purpose. My school was rough and not especially welcoming to newcoming loners. Over the years, I discovered an unspoken code of survival of the fittest: the tough athletes had control over others and easy access to the prettiest girls. The popular kids exerted manipulative power to further their own success. I felt trampled in every encounter, as I was neither powerful nor popular. The type of selfless, sacrificial love that I learned from Aaron was nowhere to be found; "love" was reduced to affection, sexuality, and personal gain.

The only way I saw to survive in this competitive environment was to stop putting others first. It didn't get me anywhere in the crowd. Maybe it saved my life when I had a big brother standing between me and a drunken fist, but in middle and high school, it seemed to serve no purpose.

And I was plagued at every turn with nagging grief and confusion over why Father changed and why he targeted Aaron. As I got older, I wished irrationally that _I_ had been the primary target of Father's rage. Instead of appreciating Aaron's sacrifices, I started to wish he never made them. Was I now somehow indebted to him?

I tried to hold onto my fledgling faith, but I grew bitter and disillusioned during high school. We hardly ever went to church, and I hardly ever listened. The love and fathership of God that had made Him so concrete to me before now didn't seem as necessary. Evolutionary love based on biology and genetic preservation became my philosophy. I decided that the only way to make it in this self-serving world was to not look up to anyone but become my own man. With some reluctance, I politely broke ties with God and anyone else I was dependent on.

At seventeen, I became emancipated and made my living fixing motorcycles. I felt comfortable with my decision not to have a father, Heavenly or otherwise—I didn't want or need one anymore. I was getting by just fine without any authority figures to look up to.

Meanwhile, Aaron married Haley Brooks from high school and became a prosecutor. He regularly checked on me and encouraged me to follow him into law school. Although being a lawyer did appeal to me, I realized my last statement of independence would be to find a path completely separate from Aaron's. I wandered for awhile after high school, trying to find my way. Aaron continued to support me from afar, but he had his own life to throw all his energy into. While he always struggles with self-blame and low self-esteem, he also developed some sort of hero complex. His tendency to demonstrate selfless love in all he does drove him to take a more active role in crime fighting, and he began working his way up the ranks of the FBI. I always felt humbled, jealous, and a little crushed when I compared my rather selfish lifestyle to his dignified, heroic accomplishments.

When Aaron became an FBI profiler, he finally returned to Virginia, but I avoided him more. I didn't want him breaking into my mind to see all the turmoil and misdirection. I met the members of his team, half of whom seemed a little crazy themselves. I did hit it off with Agent Morgan as we talked about motorcycles and football, but I didn't care to associate with the feds too much.

I now have ample time to slough through the weak motives, poor decisions, and lack of direction that helped land me in this cell. My decision not to follow Aaron into law school wounded my brother, but my alternative career of cooking fell apart much too soon. Now I look back over my scramble of job stints, my series of casual hook-ups and hang-ups, my brief dabble with ecstasy, and the whole mess with the tainted wine. It becomes clear that I haven't shown any love to anyone but myself. I have become a selfish creature gone astray.

After all that I learned about love from my big brother, how could I have made the mistakes that put me in jail today? Why did I let such valuable lessons sit unattended in the wayside?

The door to the interview room buzzes. The guards said I have a visitor and have set aside a private room rather than taking me to the usual visitation booths. I've been waiting only ten minutes. I'm not surprised to see the tall, thin man in a neat suit and red patterned tie enter and close the door. He looks stiffer and more lined than ever before, but he relaxes a little when he sits down across from me.

I have seen altogether too much of him and his team recently, but now that the case is over and we are alone, I welcome his presence. "Aaron," I sigh. "Thanks for coming to see me."

"Could never forget my little brother. How are you holding up?"

"Okay. A little down, to be honest, but I'm doing alright."

"Well, I just wanted to see you. To listen if there's anything you want to talk about."

Aaron leans back a little, lips pursed, studying me. I hate it when he studies me. I hate it when anybody who knows anything about psychology studies me, much less a profiler. At least he spares me his usual comment about my haircut.

"How's Jack?" I quickly ask.

"He's doing great. Plays soccer like a pro."

I hesitate, but I have to find out: "Do you ever worry you'll hurt him?"

Aaron doesn't seem at all prepared for that. He looks at me silently, brow knitted, for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking. "You want to talk about that?"

"Absolutely. You're the one with a family now. You're the one who made something of your life. I want to understand how you did it and how you got past the... well, the past."

He gives me another minute of painful staring. Finally, he answers. "At first I was terrified. Haley's pregnancy may have been the most prayerful nine months of my life. I knew if I ever became anything like my father, I would pack my bags and move to Antarctica. But I don't believe I could ever hurt my son. I've dedicated my life to fighting everything my father stood for."

"Doesn't make much sense. I mean, I'm no expert, but don't most of the killers and other loonies you deal with come from abusive backgrounds?"

"That doesn't mean they don't have a choice." Aaron pauses. "But there have been times when I do worry about how much like my father I really am, deep inside. Like when I... took care of Foyet... my own brutality horrified me. To hold Jack immediately afterward reminded me how careful I need to be."

I drum my fingers on the tabletop. I don't know if he has anything in mind to discuss on this visit, so I may as well take over the flow of things. "So you've healed, I get that. Why can't I? What's the difference between us? I just can't believe how lost I've become."

"It's not surprising, given your early childhood and home life, that you might get mixed up in some less than savory..."

"Stop being a profiler and just be my brother." My voice raises. "I don't blame Dad for the way I've turned out. In spite of all the evil he encouraged, _you_ of all people gave me an example of goodness that was worth imitating. You taught me about love. I don't have much of an excuse, now do I?"

Aaron seems a little surprised at my assessment. "Well, I haven't exactly led the perfect example. Look at what happened with Haley, for starters. Look anywhere else along the way and you'll see me slip or drop someone else's trust. There's only one man who has led the perfect example. Remember? I introduced you to Him when we went to church. He was our Father when our earthly dad failed us. He's the only answer."

I scoff a little. "Yeah, well, He hasn't exactly been around either."

Aaron shakes his head. "Funny thing, me trying to make a case for God. I've strayed from Him myself. Since Foyet, I've struggled a lot with my faith and gone in directions I shouldn't have. I think I understand where you're at."

I can't quite believe how much he's opening up to me. Maybe this is what he came to discuss. However, I am not ready to turn back to God when I know how He hasn't been on call when needed. "Do you remember what happened in our basement," I ask tentatively, "specifically after I spilled some paint?"

Aaron flinches visibly before catching himself. "I didn't come to talk about my past."

"That's when you showed me what love was. But _you_ showed me, not God. God never interfered to help."

Aaron sighs, guarding half his face with his fingers. "You want to know what happened in that basement?" He pauses, breathing heavily as he gazes down at the table. "I didn't expect it to last much more than a few minutes. But once that man had beaten me half senseless, he stopped and asked why I wasn't afraid. I said I was thinking of Jesus, the only one who could understand my pain and get me through it. That made him lose his lid. He said that the only thing that would stop him now would be if Jesus Himself walked in and knocked him out. 'Now we'll see if your Jesus loves you,' he said, and I'll admit I was scared. He didn't stop until he had nearly passed out from exhaustion. Jesus didn't appear, of course, not like I'd hoped He would, but I do believe He knocked that man out before I could die. I knew I couldn't take a beating like that again, so I decided to run away. When I realized leaving would put you in danger, I prayed for God to give me the strength I needed to face anything. It was never by my own strength that I endured the torture. I only did it with God's help."

"You didn't endure it on your own?" I have to know.

"Of course not. If God hadn't been watching over me, I wouldn't be here to lecture you about something I've been struggling with myself." He gives a dry chuckle.

I lean back, sighing. "There is so much I can't understand."

Aaron nods. "I had to accept that I'll never understand everything when I started studying serial killers. Maybe we don't have to understand it all. The important matter is what we trust in."

I want to agree. "I tried to break away from the past. We've both tried to do our best, but here we are in jail examining our sins like a couple of unsubs."

"Maybe everybody's an unsub, deep down inside. Who isn't hiding some terrible sins?"

Our eyes meet at the thought.

"So why did you really come to see me?" I ask at last.

"We've both strayed. I can't pretend to be the hero with the badge while I really feel just as captive as you are." He dropped his voice to a whisper and disclosed a deep sentiment I doubted he would share with anybody else. "I've been feeling like a lost boy who needs a father's love. Maybe I thought we could come home together."

I nod, relieved not to feel so alone. "So you're not here to post bail?"

The hint of a smile cracks his lips. "I was thinking more along the lines of: is there a Bible in your cell, Sean?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well, maybe it's time we both turned back to the Father who forgives."

Two prodigal sons, abused and led astray, are finally ready to kneel side-by-side and say "I'm home, Daddy," to a Father whose love transcends all crime and psychology. All along, what I really needed was a Father's love and forgiveness. I could run, I could hide, I could throw His love back in His face, but God would always be waiting with open arms.


	14. AUTHOR: Alternative backstory, anyone?

Hi, everybody! Thank you to those who read my story. It was really interesting to write, and I hope you enjoyed it. Though I really liked constructing Hotch's backstory, I know there are a few small details that don't align with the show. I have a mostly-written idea for another story that aims to stay plausibly consistent with the show, and even offers a fun approach to Haley's introduction (I think so, anyway). This time we would get Hotch's perspective. Some details that may be more accurate are the portrayal of Sean as Hotch's half-brother, Hotch's mother as his primary abuser, and some possible explanations for what appear to be contradictions in Hotch's past. Anyway, I've started writing it. I'm hoping to keep it shorter (probably about three chapters) and I would really like to know if anybody wants to read this new story? Please review to let me know, and it might appear later this week...

NOTE: I have now completed this alternative backstory. It's called "The Worst Fourth Pirate in History" and is seven chapters long.


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